SOUL

death omen

October 3rd, 2014

It had been a long, grueling day at school. The kind that dragged on and made Marigold feel even more isolated than usual. The whispers, the stares—they were constant, but today they seemed worse. She kept her head down, walking through the halls, pretending not to hear the snickers and side comments about her. She was used to it by now. She was the weird girl, the one who had visions and strange vibes, the girl nobody understood.

But today, something was different.

As the school day dragged on, a strange feeling settled over her, like a heavy blanket of dread. It started as a low hum in the back of her mind, growing louder and more insistent until she couldn't ignore it anymore. She knew what was coming. The visions always started like this—like a storm gathering on the horizon, dark and inevitable.

Marigold walked home that afternoon in silence, the feeling gnawing at her, weighing her down with every step. By the time she reached her house, the vision hit her like a freight train.

Her father.

He was going to die.

The images flooded her mind in sharp, clear detail—too fast, too vivid to ignore. She saw him at work, saw the gunfire, saw him fall. The shock on his face, the blood staining his uniform, the empty look in his eyes as life drained from him. It was all there, laid out in front of her as though it had already happened.

And for the first time, she felt nothing.

No panic, no fear, no sadness. Just... nothing.

She stood frozen in the doorway of her house, her hands trembling, but not from fear. Instead, there was an unsettling calm that washed over her, an acceptance that made her feel hollow. She could do something about it. She could try to warn him, just like she had tried to warn Adamma all those years ago. She could tell him not to go into work, to stay home, to avoid whatever was going to happen.

But she didn't.

She didn't want to.

Her father had never been kind to her, not since her mother died. He had been harsh, angry, and unrelenting. His bitterness had turned into cruelty, and he had taken it out on her more times than she could count. The bruises, the harsh words, the way he looked at her like she was a burden—it all came flooding back, all the memories of the pain he'd caused her.

Why should she save him?

Why should she care?

Marigold stood there, her breath coming in shallow, shaky gasps as the vision replayed in her mind. The gunfire. The blood. His lifeless body. And still, she felt nothing. Her father had been nothing but a source of pain for her, and for once, she wasn't going to intervene. She wasn't going to try to save him.

She turned away from the door, her chest tightening as guilt tried to creep in. But she pushed it down, refusing to let it take hold. This was different. This time, she didn't want to stop it. She wanted it to happen.

The thought scared her. It should have scared her. But it didn't.